


Civilian

by wyeoak (thescariestadverbs)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Oneshot, experimenting, thinking about Dean's history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 01:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescariestadverbs/pseuds/wyeoak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The enforcement of silence between them reverberates off the copper colored glass, and Dean wonders what other arduous things Budweisers’ have probably witnessed.  </p><p>------------------------------</p><p>In which Sam and Dean have a mostly silent conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Civilian

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a “brain break” from writing my thesis paper. I’ve been doing some creative writing, and exploring different styles of communicating to keep from experiencing any form of writers block. 
> 
> Here I wanted to try and express the ability of close knitted individuals to have conversations with very little wording. I’m experimenting with sentence structure and narrative structure (the good and the bad). I also wanted to practice using words that have the potential to tell stories in their own right and have several meanings behind their usage in a sentence. Importantly, the vagueness is purposeful. 
> 
> I’ve been reading a lot of meta on Dean’s history as of late, so there are multiple ways you can take this fic depending on your interpretation of Dean’s past experiences, and his inability to share them with Sam.
> 
> ....this is my first Wincest fic too lol

" _I wanted to give you everything_

 _but I still stand in awe of superficial things._ "

The roach and beer bottles still sit on the table where Sam and Dean left them. The enforcement of silence between them reverberates off the copper colored glass, and Dean wonders what other arduous things Budweisers’ have probably witnessed.  He feels himself inhale deeply and the atmosphere catches in his throat.

Sam coughs and Dean shrinks. He watches as Sam ties his boots on the bed from behind a cloak of detachment. Sam finishes tying and looks passed Dean, just beyond his shoulder, waiting. Before moving to rest his forearms on his knees Sam rubs both hands over his eyes and through his hair. It’s like he’s not even breathing.

Mirroring Sam’s, movements Dean rubs his hand over his mouth, leaves it there. He can smell the scent of sex on his fingers. The sweat. The spit. The latex. Dean laughs to himself. If the situation got any more worse it would be clinical. “Sam,” he starts and Sam looks in his direction once more, the ever-present look of concern in the way he sets his jaw, and the undulation of his brow make Dean hesitate. He reaches across the table for a bottle but lets his hand rest on table. “Look-“

“It’s okay,” this time it’s Sam’s turn to look away, to smooth his hands over his jean covered legs. The conversation turns wordless, and Dean reads the lines of Sam’s body. The formality of each one of Sam’s movements as he turns to put _The Big Book of Urban Legends_ in his duffle makes Dean heat feverishly. Sam straightens, he says, “We shouldn’t have, that’s all,” and there is an apology in there somewhere. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Dean states and he knows the walls will be talking about this for days.

Sam chokes out a desperate laugh. “Dean,” he says, and looks up at the ceiling to shake his head like he’s keeping back tears. Sam suppresses his discomposure, and Dean taps his knuckles on the Ikea-oak. 

Dean feels betrayed by Sam’s anxiety, “Lets not talk about it then.” Sam agrees as a cloud passes over the sun and the room turns artificial. The sun emerges once more and the two of them share a heated conversation through fixed eyes until the glare coming through the blinds is too much for Dean to stare into.

Dean moves so quickly from his chair to the door he could’ve given himself whiplash. Sam remains on the bed, heart pulsing rapidly, ready for the blow that never comes. The entire condition, to Sam, lit up like a wild fire, all stemming from one singular, isolated match. A stupid question, on Sam’s part, had brought them to this exact point in their evening. Sam could swear he’d broken the hunter for just a second before, just as wildly, Dean reclaimed the chaos that had boiled up to burn just beneath the surface of his skin.

It was Dean’s reaction to the question that gave Sam his answer. He denied himself the recollection that he’d always suspected the veracity of his suspicions. But he should have never asked when the both of them were as exposed as they were. Tact is what was missing from Sam’s inebriated third degree. 

It was only meant as a compliment. At most, a lighthearted joke in between opened mouth kissing and punctuated thrusting. The backfire from which Sam would be picking shrapnel from his body for centuries – like all other things he wrecked for Dean.

The way Dean moved his body was a masterly performance. While Sam knew Dean had some concept of the mechanics of sex, would probably call himself an expert, he didn’t expect the undulating movement of his hips to feel perfected, or the acceptance of Sam’s body into Deans so effortless. The expert swallow of Sam’s release without the grimace of first time disrelish should have assembled in Sam’s brain without needing to say it out loud. But he did and he regrets it now.

Truth be told, a “Where’d you learn to do this?” could have never been uttered more innocently.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title and the quote are taken from Civilian by Wye Oak :)


End file.
